


Bird Calls

by magickalmolly



Series: Twelve Days of Christmas [4]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-07
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-15 10:43:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 510
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9231317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magickalmolly/pseuds/magickalmolly
Summary: One of the very first sounds Sam can remember from his childhood is that of the henhouse.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the fourth line of the "Twelve Days of Christmas" song "four calling birds".
> 
> Originally written December 29, 2004.

One of the very first sounds Sam can remember from his childhood is that of the henhouse. He knows it's a silly thing to keep in mind, but he could hear the hens right outside the kitchen window every morning, clucking and pecking and looking for their breakfast. His mother would bustle out to feed them (then his sisters, when they were old enough), and Sam recalls more than one time when she and the Gaffer would share a kiss on the back step, chickens at their feet, before he'd head up the hill. The hens would fuss and flap out of his way, and the cock would be crowing all the while, as if to tell the rest of Bagshot Row that the Gamgees had already begun their day. 

It was many years later, before their company entered Moria, that Sam first saw the inky drove of birds, circling in the sky. They swooped low and doubled back, searching. Sam thought them to be crows, ones much larger than what he'd ever seen at home, but Strider said they were _crebain_ , and to stay out of their sight. It didn't matter then to Sam what they were. He lay on the ground, not daring to breathe, eyes shut tight. But after that day, he would see them still, in his dreams. He'd feel the cold wind from their wings and hear their flat, piercing cries, only to awake trembling and tangled in his blanket. 

There were no birds in Mordor. There was nothing alive at all; no rodents, no insect. No whisper of sunshine or rustle of grass. It's painful to Sam's ears, and he'd strain to hear anything. Something more than his own labored breathing, or the heavy, weary fall of his feet. But no sound would come to him. Nothing but the noiseless thrum of death.

Sam cannot remember the Eagles. So many years of being fascinated by old Mister Bilbo's tales, and to not recall his own encounter with them seems unfair to Sam's way of thinking. But Gandalf tells him all about it; how Gwaihir the Windlord himself bore Sam's body from the side of the mountain, snatched him up from between rivers of fire and smoke. Landroval and Meneldor followed behind, all in a row, all the way to Ithilien. A golden-winged processional worthy of such great heroes. 

It was at the gates of Cirdan that Sam first saw seagulls. They floated high in the air as their party reached the Havens, letting the breeze turn them in lazy circles. Their calls carried on the wind, and to Sam it was like the sound of sorrow. The sound of good bye. Even in the silence that followed after the ship had sailed, Sam could hear them, the fresh memory tugging at the empty spot in his heart.

It will be many years before Sam will hear those cries again. But then it will be a comfort to him, a sound he will long to hear. It will be the sound of coming home. 

~fin~


End file.
